TSA Pt. 01

"Go to hell," I growl at the TSA agent. I'd had to walk through the metal detector one too many times on this trip. But when I had to take down my bun so the agent could "inspect" my hair, I finally lost it.

Our dear president had forced through a draconian executive order allowing the TSA practically the same authority as the Gestapo. My Nazi reference to the offending hair inspector had apparently been enough to detain me.

One would think that detention would have made me bite my tongue. One would be wrong.

So now I'm pissed that I'm trussed up in the agent's office ass up, over his desk: zip ties on my wrists and hand cuffs on my ankles. Apparently something in the executive order makes that legal. I'd love to read the statute myself, but it's probably in the large binder of TSA regulations propping up my hips. Mr. Power Trip was kind enough to throw his shirt over it, otherwise I'd have a bikini line full of paper cuts.

The problem is Mr. PT is pretty hot, even in the stupid wife beater revealed when he sacrificed his shirt to me. I'd been eyeing him, as a matter of fact, when they'd pulled me out of line to inspect my hair. He was the first to approach me after my Nazi comment. Late 40s, maybe early 50s, just a touch of white in his dark hair. Tall and fit but with a bit of heft-defined arms and chest that I can see when I cut my eyes at him now. But that's not really what makes him so hot. This fucker owns the room when he walks in. Every molecule in my body wanted to fall to his command when I first saw him.

When he led me away from the security line, his grip on my arm was just snug enough to make me follow. His presence was so commanding that I didn't-couldn't, wouldn't-resist.

His lackey brought my luggage and the boots I'd had to remove and they led me to a private screening room. The lackey disappeared back to the growing line of travelers.

"Look at me, bitch," he'd said after closing the heavy screening room door. I rolled my eyes at him and it took all my willpower to not spit in his face. "I know exactly what you're about, you self-satisfied, entitled cunt. You think you've got a right to verbally abuse my staff just because you're a basic white girl? Well, you're not going to get away with that shit on my watch and I've got the authority to make sure you're punished for it."

My back was to the two way mirror but I saw him eyeing something behind me and over my head. He walked towards me and, without warning, his hand was at my throat. I inhaled to scream but his hand tightened quickly, instinctively.

"Keep your mouth shut, bitch, and this will be less difficult for you. Put your hands up over your head and take two steps backwards. I felt my eyes widen, and was about to shake my head "no" when his hand tightened again-too quickly, like a reflex and not a response. He shoved me backwards and without ever releasing his grip on my throat, he cuffed my left hand and attached it to a D-ring above the mirror. "Welp," I thought, "I guess that explains what he was looking at."

He released his grip on my throat and put a finger under my chin. I didn't resist when he pushed up and inspected me. "What a beauty, truly," he said to me, staring into my eyes. "Too bad, I have to punish you for your little scene out there." I tried to hold his stare but my eyes fell to the floor. He mumbled something about breaking my pride as his eyes molested every part of my body. I inhaled sharply when he cuffed my other hand to the d-ring on the opposite side of the mirror.

He moved to my suitcase and started going through my things. I opened my mouth to protest but one look from him silenced me again-this guy, his command of the space was palatable. He found my vibrator and tested out the different speeds as he explained some obscure TSA rule about wireless electronic devices. "Basically, I can test any device to make sure it's not anything nefarious. And I'm going to test this on you, but believe me, the testing will be nefarious. Spread your legs, whore."

"No."

Backhand across my left cheek.

"Now."

Tears welled in my eyes, "No."

Backhand across my right cheek.

I spread my legs just enough for my skirt to crinkle up at my hips.

He kicked my feet open wider and my weight fell against the cuffs on my wrists. I gasped at the pain but was immediately distracted by my skirt being yanked up around my waist and my panties being yanked so hard in the opposite direction that they ripped across my spread thighs.

He pushed my ass back against the glass.

"You skank. All those people out there can see the outline of your fat ass. I wonder if they'll like it as much as you do when this test makes you scream my name."

"Wh-".

"Shut up. To you, my name is Sir, that's all you need to know right now. And don't speak unless you're spoken to."

Silence, I lowered my eyes. Then he glared at me, clearing his throat. "Answer me, you worthless whore."

"Yes, sir," came out of my lips in a raspy whisper.

"Good girl, that's better," he said and he shoved his strong fingers in my pussy and brought them out sopping wet and pinched my clit, I let out an involuntary moan. He picked up my torn panties and shoved them in my mouth. He pulled off his cheesy uniform tie and secured the gag in my mouth.

He picked up my vibrator and dampened that in my pussy as well, cranked it up, and placed it directly on my clit.

Moments later, anyone close enough to the two way mirror could surely see my juices dripping down the glass as I pulled against the restraints in the throes of an orgasm. When the last wave subsided, he held the vibrator on my clit for another few moments. As I was writhing from the over stimulation, he grabbed my throat again and watched me intently. When he turned off the vibrator, I slumped against the d-rings and glared at my captor, pissed because I was stuck there but glowing from cuming. The juxtaposition clearly amused Mr. Power Trip, he laughed at me as he tossed the wet and sticky vibrator back into my suitcase.

"Now it's my turn, slut," he released the cuffs from the D-rings and I tried to pull down my skirt.

"Leave it." I glared at him. He raised his hand. I lowered my eyes.

"On your knees, dirty slut," he commanded, unzipping his pants.

Here we go again: "No," I said through my torn panties.

I flinched, expecting another blow, but he grabbed a fist full of my hair instead. He tried to pull me down to my knees but the angle was wrong and I was able to resist, even though tears pricked my eyes from the pain. But I couldn't recover my balance in time and he was able to adjust his grip and bring me down to the floor hard on my left side.

"On your knees, dirty slut," he said again. The thought of feeling his cock in the back of my throat did not help the wetness situation between my thighs. But it's the principle of the thing.

"No," I said again.

He took two handfuls of hair this time and dragged me bodily to a door opposite of the one we entered. I was still on my side and he put his foot on my arm and adjusted his grip on my hair with one hand. He peeked both ways out the door, kicked it all the way open, grabbed both my hands in one of his, tightened his grip on my hair and dragged me across the cold tiles of a brightly lit hallway. My skirt became more hiked and twisted and had anyone come in the hallway, they would have seen everything between my legs as I kicked and thrashed.

Thankfully, his office was directly across the hall. He practically threw me inside and I fetched up against the wall, red with rage and carpet burn from the outdated beige carpet inside the office. I got the feeling I wasn't the first to experience Mr PT's punishment: the door had an unusual number of locks for a TSA manager.

He appraised the blonde, seething mess on his floor, the look on his face a mix between frustration and amusement. I stood up and threw myself at the door as he started turning the locks, thinking I could push my way out. This seemed to amuse him more and a smile of genuine joy spread across his lips as he shoved me nonchalantly to the floor. The tirade in my head would have come out a lot more loudly and filled with a lot more cuss words if that smile was not so enchanting. I'd lost the panty gag in the fray and I still managed, "Let me out of here you fucking nazi piece of shit!" You're probably hung like a fucking tic tac and this is the only way you can get any action outside of your mom's basement!"

The smile disappeared instantly. I silently cursed my big mouth as he grabbed my hair again and pulled me slowly, painfully to my feet. I tried to struggle again when he slightly relaxed his grip. But to no avail: he had me cuffed to the leg of the table in no time...probably his intention all along since he could have left the cuffs in the other room.

The table was bolted to the floor, confirming both my suspicions about other punishments and his eventual intentions. He unbuttoned his shirt, continuing to consume me with his eyes.

"Stop looking at me like that, tic tac dick".

I saw a flicker of amusement as he walked to his desk. He pulled out an old fashioned wooden ruler-the kind with the small metal strip in the side-and placed it on the desk top with a small "crack" sound. He unlocked a drawer and produced a ball gag.

"No fucking way!" I said. But realistically I was in no position to argue. He moved around the desk and grabbed my throat again. I pulled at the corded muscles in his arm with my free hand, cuff swinging wildly. He pushed me around so that my ass was against the short edge of the table, my right arm cuffed to the table leg to my right, my knees slightly bent to minimize the pull on my wrist and the pressure on my throat.

"Sit down on the table, filthy cunt."

"No".

His eyes cut to the ruler on the desk, but he slapped me across the face. I sat.

"Now put your legs up on the table and kneel".

I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster but complied when he raised his hand again. Kneeling on the table was difficult with my hand attached to the table leg. He smiled at my discomfort and then pulled my legs out from under me so I landed hard on my right shoulder but ended up with my stomach down on the desk and my left hand cuffed quickly to the other table leg. Just as quickly, he put zip ties on my wrists and removed the cuffs, which he transferred to my ankles and attached to the table legs as well.

He was tall and my pussy was several inches below his cock-which was clearly not tic tac size. He continued to appraise me splayed out on his table, black streaks on my cheeks, blonde hair well out of the offending bun, and carpet burn up one side of my body as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. He removed his shirt and wrapped it around a large binder.

"Put your fat ass in the air, slut."

The only move I could make was to tremble. I heard something fly through the air and felt the sharp sting of the ruler on the tender flesh of the back of my knee. I gasped in pain and ecstasy and lifted my ass up and allowed him to position the binder underneath me.

Mr. PT stepped back to admire his handiwork and brushed my hair out of my face and arranged it to his liking. He wiped some of the smeared mascara from my cheeks and checked the restraints.

-

When I tell him to go to hell, he smacks the back of my other knee with the ruler and I cry out again.

He bends down if front of me and looks me in the eyes and says, "Such nasty language from such a pretty mouth." His voice is calm, almost kind, with a quiet depth that is filled with lust.

"Your mouth belongs to me now and I don't want to hear any more filth coming out of it. I'll be filling it with my cock and my cum later and I expect you to swallow every drop and thank me for the privilege. Until then, you'll wear the gag-I can't have you spouting obscenities while I'm pounding my pussy."

He straps on the ball gag and stands up and then, confusingly, softly strokes my cheek and neck, gently tracing the shape of my neck to the place where it meets my collar bone.

"You're even more beautiful displayed like this. When I'm fucking your pussy, you may moan quietly. But do not try to talk and don't be loud or I will have to use the ruler again."

Now that I'm completely incapacitated, he walks around me, touching my back or arm or leg, seeming to try to figure out how to disrobe me. My skirt is still hiked up around my waist and he bends down and bites my inner thigh high up on my leg, the part of my thigh that's still wet and sticky from my pussy dripping. He bites my other thigh in the same spot before slowly, excruciatingly sliding two fingers into my soaking wet pussy. He pushes on my G spot just once to tease me as I buck and moan. I receive another pop with the ruler and moan my pain and pleasure through the gag. He rubs my juices on my clit and then sucks my clit until the juices are gone and my clit swells with the pain and pleasure. Two fingers enter me again and come out very wet. One of them enters my tight asshole and I jump in surprise.

The way I'm tied up, he can keep his finger in my ass and still get close enough to my ear for me to hear when he whispers, "Both of those holes are mine now. You can forget about whatever flight you were supposed to catch because I'll be using all of your holes long after your plane has taken off. I'm going to fuck you slut: fuck my pussy and my mouth. When I'm done you're going to clean my cock and get every last drop of your filthy whore pussy juice off of it. I'll mark your ass five times for every drop of your juice or my cum you miss."

With this, he drags the ruler up my side. What I think is the ruler is actually a pair of scissors, the blades like ice against my skin as he slices through my skirt and slip. Instinct makes me pull away and in my struggle, the very sharp point of the scissors just touches my thigh. I can feel a small drop of blood run down the outside of my leg so I stop pulling away. My entire body trembles with my effort to stay still.

"I'm sorry, pet," says Mr. PT and he wipes away the blood with the remnants of my skirt. I'm surprised to hear sincerity in his apology. He is more careful as he cuts my shirt from hem to cuffs and I manage to stay still. He adds to the collection of red marks on my body when he rips the clothes out from under me, the buttons gouging the tender skin on my stomach.

The laminate of the table is cold against my nipples when he snips my bra straps and rips the pieces away.

"Oh, and slut?"

"Mmmmmm?"

He moves around to remove the gag. "How do you answer me, you dumb bitch?!"

"What?!"

His hand goes to my throat, "try again," he growls.

"Yes, sir".

"Much better." As he replaces the ball gag, another evil grin comes to his lips. "Don't you dare cum until I tell you. You'll get 50 strokes with my friendly ruler if you do." He moves back towards my raised hips, penetrates my pussy again, and then my asshole. I gasp as he slides in a second finger.

"And if you don't keep your stupid, big mouth shut, I'll let my manager next door punish you with his cock right. Here."

He drives home his point by forcing his fingers deeper inside my ass.

Tears streak my mascara again as I take a deep breath and wait for the doom to wash over me.